


To Catch a Thief

by turtlebook



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Supervillains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:31:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3770212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtlebook/pseuds/turtlebook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra Cillian doesn't become a janitor, she becomes a supervillain and takes over the world, instead. (Well, it's kind of a work in progress, but she's getting there.) Meanwhile, Ezekiel Jones is, as always, Ezekiel Jones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Catch a Thief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilybeth84](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybeth84/gifts).



"We found him in the gallery," Lamia says, and throws the intruder down on the floor at her feet.

Cassandra turns away from her work and her eyebrows draw together as she looks down at him. They don't get many intruders here, not least because they rarely manage to get inside.

Cassandra Cillian does not skimp on security.

He's little more than a boy, really, and complains like one, yelping when he tries to rise and Lamia sends him back to his knees with a swift kick. "Ow! Now that was just plain unnecessary."

Cassandra sighs. She doesn't like being disturbed when she's working. Which is always. "Have you questioned him yet?"

"No. Ran a check, name's Ezekiel Jones. He shows up in a few," Lamia smiles, seemingly amused, "interesting databases."

"A _few_ ," Ezekiel Jones says.

"Who sent you?" Cassandra says.

"No one sent me, I -"

Lamia interrupts. "Boss, I don't think he's an agent. When we found him he was peeling a canvas out of its frame. I... think he was going to steal it."

"Which one?" 

"The Waterhouse."

"That's one of my favourites. He's seriously just a thief?"

"Whoa, whoa. Hang on. 'Just' a thief? Now that's just so rude."

"Quiet, boy." Lamia grabs him by the hair and draws a blade from her belt. "Shall I?"

Cassandra is too curious for swift reprisal right now. How did he even get here? How did he get past her security? Why would he go through all that trouble of coming _here_ , to steal a painting from _her_? 

The question she asks is: "Are you a good thief?"

"Are you telling me you haven't heard of me?" Ezekiel Jones says. He sounds insulted.

"Shouldn't a thief want to keep a low profile?"

"What, like you do?"

"I'm not a thief, I'm a - I'm a power unto my own."

"You take what you want. You do what you want. Different words for the same thing."

He's not wrong, but she's not about to say that. Not if she's going to keep him around. Which, she suddenly decides, she is.

A thief could always be useful.

\---

This particular thief doesn't like being useful, but Cassandra has learned how to be persuasive. 

"You put what in my head?" he says upon regaining consciousness.

"It's only a small explosive device fused to your skull. No biggie. Oh, the inside of your skull," she says as he pats his head frantically looking for suspicious lumps.

" _Why?_ "

"Because I can." Also, because she likes the poetic irony of putting a literal time bomb inside someone else's head. "Now," she continues, "about that weapons grade plutonium you'll be acquiring for me." 

Ezekiel steals the plutonium for her. He also steals the self-destruct codes for her Fortress of Doom. And uses them. The facility is five minutes away from becoming a gigantic smoking crater in the earth as he crosses his arms over his chest, smiles, and says, "Now, about that explosive device you'll be removing from my head."

She points out that she can easily agree to perform the procedure, but he'll have to deactivate the self-destruct sequence first, and then she can just as easily go back on her word and leave it in his head.

"But you don't know how I did it," he says. "So I can do it again."

"So I'll just kill you."

"But you don't know how I did it," he says, and grins like he's already won; like he isn't standing in the middle of ground zero. 

She takes the bomb out of his head. It's not so poetic this time around, but she doesn't kill him. She has him thrown in the dungeon instead.

He escapes from the dungeon three hours later, in time to join her for afternoon tea, and they form a wary sort of truce while he eats all the scones.

\---

The observation deck, at the highest point of the highest tower of the fortress, is her favourite place in the world. Outside the boundaries of the biodome in a vast 360 degree panorama, the Antarctic landscape stretches for miles and miles, stark and white and empty under the weak sun. 

It makes her feel small. She doesn't mind that; small things can be incredibly powerful.

It's a place to just be very quiet, and very alone, which wasn't always easy when you have to run a whole evil empire on your own while the vagaries of your own physiology try to overwhelm your brain with out-of-control sensory input.

It also isn't easy when you have a thief on staff who doesn't respect private time.

"Ezekiel, do you ever _not_ go places you're not supposed to?"

"Sure. I don't go in the ladies room."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah but, it's kind of what I do. Generally speaking, if there's somewhere you're not supposed to go, it's because it's somewhere you'd want to go."

"There's nothing up here but me."

"That's not nothing."

"Huh?"

"What? I meant the telescope. It's cool."

"Oh. It's not a telescope, it's the guidance and control system for my orbiting weapons platform."

"That's much cooler than a telescope."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

\---

It's weird, but for a while she actually just assumes Ezekiel has superpowers. 

Until one day when she asks him his origin story, and he shrugs. "Please. Who needs superpowers? I'm awesome the way I am, no adjustments necessary."

"Then how..."

"What?"

She waves vaguely at him. "Any of it." 

"I told you: I'm awesome. But what about you, what's your deal? You're like, smart."

 _Smart?_

"Yes, I am smart. I'm the smartest person in the world."

"I like that you're not modest about it. So I hear there's a thing. In your head."

"Tumour. You can say it, it's not like I'm ashamed of it or anything. It's made me who I am, it's why I'm here."

"You think?" He's dubious. 

Which is strange, because as conclusions go this one is self-evident. Without her tumour she might still be smart, be a brilliant surgeon or astrophysicist perhaps, but she wouldn't be what she is now: something different. Something very different.

Just because her origin story is a tragedy, doesn't make it any less legitimate or any less cool. She explains this to Ezekiel but he dismisses her logic with a careless wave of his hand. Which is quite irritating.

"Nah, people like us, we were born different. The thing in your head just made you interesting."

"You think I'm interesting?"

"Cassandra, you and I are hanging out in your Antarctic Fortress of Doom while you take a break from annexing Tasmania. Nice choice, by the way, we didn't need it anyway. The point is, anyone this pissed off with the world, with the ability to let everyone know about it? Sure, you've got my attention."

She doesn't really know how to respond to that. Sometimes she doesn't know how to respond to Ezekiel at all. He's annoying, and he's always around when she doesn't want him around, and never around when she needs him. To steal something, that is.

And he's always, _always_ talking.

"That thing you do, though," he continues, as if to prove her point, "doesn't always work in your favour, right? Like all your senses go into a feedback loop and suddenly you're a supercomputer with overloading circuits."

There's no point denying it; he's been around a while now, he's seen the toll her condition sometimes takes. So she just shrugs lightly. "There's always a downside."

"Not if you're me."

She frowns, and wonders why she lets him get away with - well, anything, really. But especially being annoying. She could have him thrown back in the dungeon. Or out into the frozen wasteland beyond the dome, naked. But she hasn't done anything like that in weeks; not to Ezekiel, anyway. The urge isn't really there anymore. 

It's weird that it never occurred to her that Ezekiel could be... normal. She has to now accept that she understands him even less than she thought she did. 

She doesn't really understand him at all.

She sighs. "Shut up, Ezekiel."

\---

"We are _not calling it a brain grape, Ezekiel_."

"Ah, don't be grouchy, that's just the brain grape talking."

"I will feed you to the octo-gators. I'm not kidding."

"The... huh?"

"Oh, um, octo-gators. I do a little genetic engineering in my free time. I mean, who doesn't, right?"

"So, half octopus, half..."

"Alligator. Plus a little komodo dragon, and a teeny smidge of scorpion, you know, just for fun. They live in the moat. You've seen the moat. You've gotten past it a number of times now."

"I go under the moat. Or over it. Not... in it. Which I'm now retroactively thanking myself for."

"Well, they are a little shy. Easy to miss. At first."

"Octo-gators. Okay. And you think 'brain grape' is a stupid name."

He flees the room before she can give the order. A shame; she hasn't had anyone thrown in the moat in ages. Luckily, the octo-gators like penguins.

Hey, this is Antarctica. One thing she isn't short on, is penguins.

\---

Her thoughts are fractals, infinite, spiralling sensations overwhelming everything but the numbers spinning across her vision and it's a strange kind of ecstasy in these moments that she might even enjoy except that her knees really hurt from where she dropped to the floor.

On some level she realises someone is saying her name but the sound is swept up and transformed into the tangy scent of differential geometry and her head hurts and she knows Ezekiel is there and is glad because she hasn't seen him in days but she can't make sense of it because days are particles of time and time is relative and -

"Here, look at this!" Ezekiel shoves something in front of her face and as her eyes are forced to refocus her mind follows suit, the chaotic turmoil of her senses resolving itself into a simple quadrilateral plane, not quite one metre square in dimension.

"Oh," she breathes. "Rossetti. Oil on canvas. I went to the museum once, when I was eight, I think. I bought a magnet at the gift shop."

"Yeah, I figured you liked the Pre-Raphaelites. Picked this up on my way home. Through the Tate Gallery."

"I smell red wine. Strong, dark tannins. Cabernet, I think."

"Huh. I hope that means you like it."

She grips the sides of the frame and stares and breathes and slowly the world becomes clear and quiet again. 

"It's a nice painting," she says.

\---

It's not that she needs a reason to redesign and implement new security features. Every other week.

It's a _fortress_. It's supposed to be secure.

But really, the reason is that she likes seeing how long it takes Ezekiel to 1. escape and 2. come back.

He keeps coming back.

One day, after a particularly draconian upgrade she's rather proud of, he shows up in her dining hall. His clothes are wet and torn, his hair is singed, and he looks, overall, slightly mangled as he stands there wavering slightly on his feet. 

"I was hoping you'd come in through the dungeons."

"The spiky-flamey death wheel things were pretty fun. Okay, I'm impressed."

Secretly, so is she. "Want breakfast?"

He limps over to join her at the table, and she passes him the waffles.

\---

"I don't trust him," Lamia says. Often.

"Me neither, but that doesn't matter." Cassandra doesn't trust anyone. Not even Lamia, for whom loyalty is more important than anything - than breathing, or life, or science even.

She knows she _could_ trust Lamia, but she still doesn't.

She doesn't trust anyone, because she doesn't need to. On some level, all people are predictable. Ezekiel Jones maybe more than most. 

Lamia frowns, silent disapproval pouring out of her.

Cassandra just smiles and doodles another booby trap.

\---

"The thief was seen fleeing out the west tunnel," Lamia informs her, the words dripping with disdain, during a spare moment early in the crisis. 

It's not particularly relevant, so Cassandra doesn't give it much thought, being far more busy powering up the death rays.

An hour or so later, things aren't going so well. There have been several explosions at strategic points around the biodome, rocking the fortress to its very foundations. Another could bring the whole thing down on their heads. 

And enemy agents have somehow managed to disable two of the death rays already.

The situation is, at this point, looking a little dire.

This is precisely the moment when Ezekiel appears at her side and pulls several small, identical devices from his pocket. "I found these. Thought they might be useful."

"What are they?" Lamia demands.

"Detonators," Cassandra says, as those pesky invading forces completely fail to blow up any more of her beloved home.

"You're welcome," Ezekiel says.

The pleasantly warm feeling she experiences as a result of his timely reappearance is not entirely unexpected. And also, she wants to kiss him. Which is kind of a weird thought to be having in the middle of a crisis situation, really not particularly pertinent or helpful under the circumstances. But it's one she decides to revisit later when nobody is trying to blow her up.

"Thank you, Ezekiel, that was very helpful."

"Well you know me, I love to be helpful."

Lamia throws up her arms and goes off to, Cassandra assumes, beat up as many of the retreating forces as possible before they get away.

Ezekiel remains where he is, smiling smugly at her side.

\---

The thing is, someone is always trying to blow her up these days.

But if there's one thing someone with a ticking tumour-bomb inside their head knows, it's how to make time for things that are important.

\---

"This is nice," she says.

"Yeah," Ezekiel agrees, as he cheerfully stuffs half a slice of pie in his mouth.

They're seated on a chequered blanket laid in a nice, sunny spot on top of the outer fortress wall, overlooking the moat, with an open hamper filled with delicious things beside them.

"So," she says, "I have a proposal to make."

"Ooh, does it involve that volcano thing you're working on? Because I know you don't like people going in your extra, extra super secret lab, but, well. It's me. I peeked. The volcano thing looks cool."

"No, it's not about the volcano thing. Although, since we're on the subject, I will be needing you to steal me a deep sea mining rig in the near future."

"Gotcha."

"Back to my proposal. It's - it's actually an actual proposal. I'm proposing. Ezekiel, I'd like to marry you."

"Uhhhhh," he makes this noise for several seconds until he looks down and sees her hand on his thigh, and then it turns into: "Oh."

"I think we would make a good team. An official, conjugal arrangement would prove mutually beneficial in several ways - emotionally, physically, and professionally. Plus, I just like you."

"So you invite me to a picnic?"

"I like picnics. I like you." She shrugs. It had made sense to her, anyway. She looks down at her hand, still resting on Ezekiel's thigh. The last time she'd felt this awkward, she'd levelled Mt Rushmore. "You like me, don't you?"

There's a moment where she thinks she has it all wrong. But then he smiles, and takes her hand lightly in his own.

"I... like you. Not as much as I like me. But I like you. You might come in second place - I mean, if I was going to start ranking people on a likeability scale. Usually that would be pretty easy, it just goes me, then everyone else in the world. My life was a lot less complicated before I met you. Now there's a whole new classification of people. People I like who aren't me. Weird."

She smiles. She's happy. "I knew you liked me."

"And I knew you were smart enough to recognise how awesome I am. Of course you want to marry me. What self-respecting super-genius wouldn't?"

"Okay. Good. I'll take that as acceptance of my proposal. And I should take this opportunity to inform you that, despite the privileges and position naturally and legally afforded to you as my spouse, if you in any way act to harm me or undermine my goals I will toss you in the moat and my wanting to kiss you all the time will have no impact on my ability to make that decision. Seriously, I will end you."

"So tell me more about how you seriously have the hots for me?"

"How about I just kiss you, instead?"

He puts a shocked hand to his chest. "Right here? In front of the octo-gators?"

"Shut up, Ezekiel," she says, and leans over and kisses him.

Actually, she does a lot more than just kiss him.

Right there, in front of the octo-gators. They don't seem to mind.

\---

"Yeah, but see I'm not really that into kneeling. For anyone."

"You knelt for me the first time we met."

"Because Lamia _kicked_ me."

"And now?"

"Well, okay, I guess I can make an exception." His hands slide over her knees. His fingertips are cool, and oddly delicate, trailing up the inside of her bare thighs. But then, she already knew he was good with his hands, her thief.

It was a simple ceremony, and the wedding night is turning out lovely. She strokes a hand over his soft hair and he looks up briefly.

"Yeah, this is okay," he says, and shrugs, and leans in.

\---

She's always known, somewhere deep down inside, that the world would be a better, saner, more efficient and overall generally pleasant place if she were the one running things.

She doesn't just want to see it all burn.

Not all of it.

She has goals, and ideals, and she works hard to achieve them. And she's a super-genius with a super-tumour so she's been making pretty decent progress on all fronts.

These days, when she looks out to the horizon, past the icy, frozen borders of her adopted home, to the world beyond and to the future, she sees order. Science. Reason. But she also sees something else, something new and a little interesting, that wasn't there before.

"What do you think?" she says.

He bumps her shoulder with his. "I think we were made to rule the world together."

She smiles. She's definitely keeping him.


End file.
